Story of My Life, Really
by anonbrat
Summary: Call me Raven. Female, 15-16 years old, Innocence-User. Occupation a student (previously home-schooled) and an Exorcist. Trust me, this is a pretty screwed up story. [WARNING: OC & AU STORY, NEWBIE AUTHOR, GENRES MIGHT BE MISTAKEN, FOUL LANGUAGE (including F word a couple of times..)] {..R&R, please?}


**A/N**

**First fan fiction. I hope it'll be good.**

**Sorry, no cover image.. yet.**

**It's an OC story, and some are on OC's POV, so if you don't really like OC… well, don't go yelling on me, okay? You've been warned. And it's AU too, it's on different era and time, but pretty much about **_**Innocence**_**. There are many things different than the original manga, alright. **

**I don't know about pairing, I don't really like romance. Except for shounen ai/yaoi. You can't refuse the power of yaoi.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN -MAN (I'm sure you guys know this anyway) ONLY OC, AND THINGS YOU FOUND DIFFERENT FROM THE ORIGINAL MANGA**

**WARNING: FOUL LANGUAGE DUE TO THE OC (not that much) AND KANDA (chances are, **_**that **_**much)**

**AU, OC STORY, NO ROMANCE FOR THE MEAN TIME, T-RATED, SEVERAL DIFFERENT THINGS FROM THE ORIGINAL MANGA BECAUSE HEY, THIS IS A FAN FICTION.**

**GENRE: Action, friendship, fantasy**

**FF based from -Man and my imagination. Enjoy.**

**Here goes.  
**

* * *

_Has the sky always been this blue_?

I couldn't move. Not that I really wanted to move, to be honest, I didn't. Not when I knew that there was no use, there was no hope, not when I knew that even if I _did _succeed to move, I wouldn't last a minute. I sound like some depressed little girl—but really, when you literally can feel life draining away from your body and leaving you staring into the goddamn blue sky in some sort of pathetic trance, who wouldn't sound depressed? No one, that was who.

_Shit._

I felt cold. In fact, I didn't feel anything on my skin but _cold_. The wounds didn't even hurt anymore, and the warm stickiness sensation of blood dripping down my skin that previously bothered the hell out of me, just wasn't there anymore. I should have felt the heat seeping to my skin from the rough asphalt underneath me, but nah, nothing. Just cold. Not a good sign, and actually, I didn't believe in any good sign anymore.

I had lost my sense of touch. Great, a sign, a sign that I was dying. Now I just had to wait to lose my sense of hearing, sight, and smell. The three of them were working really well, actually. Too well. I could hear screams and gunshots and the sickening sound of tearing flesh. I could hear the familiar screeching of machines and distorted laughing, both made me twitched and jerked in defensive response. I could smell too, the air was thick with scent of blood I could actually taste it on the tip of my tongue. A nauseating coppery tang. I could smell my blood, the peoples' blood. The demons' blood.

And I could see, alright. The blue sky.

My breath hitched. I made that strangled breathing sound like a dying person—funny, because I _was _dying. I had been in the same state for a couple of times before (yeah, sweet, _sweet_ teenage life, huh?) and sadly, it had became sort of familiar—_familiar_, my god, was my life screwed up _that_ bad?

Believe me, I did have a pretty much normal life before. Well, not exactly. I had never been normal. I was always different, I knew that from the beginning. Since the very first memory I remembered, I was different. It etched so deeply that it had already became a common sense, it was a part of me, I didn't even feel bothered by it. No, really. I was different, end of story.

That's why I wondered why was I so surprised that my life got so screwed up.

I'm sure you get it by now that yes, previously, although abnormal, I had a pretty good life. No, really(ouch, I said "No, really" twice)! I lived in a fancy mansion, I had a nonstop, awfully great internet connection 24/7, I had foods and maids and butlers(do not mistaken, these butlers were _hot_), _and _androids that did whatever I ordered them to. Being the daughter of one of the most—if not the most—powerful man in the world sure had it perks, huh? In short, I had practically the most perfect life ever. You probably wondered why did I feel like that, why wasn't I feel bothered, when I was different than normal people? Why did I not feel, say, _left out_?

In the mansion I lived with maids and butlers and androids, right. They taught me, they trained me, they feed me, they served me, even, in a respectable way. Understand? No? Well, I'll just say it to the point then: I never met with anyone beside them in years. I never interacted directly with anyone beside them, in a very, very long time. I never went to school, I never even stepped out of the mansion in years. And by years, I mean nearly a _decade_. See? That was why. Why should I be bothered by being left out, when I _had_ been left out since as long as I could remember? When I was already left out?

No. I shouldn't, right? Back to the battlefield.

I could feel them.

The first time it awoke inside of me, I could always feel them. _Innocence. _I could even point out their directions if I want to.

Just like their users, they were screaming. Screaming so hard I wanted to scream, too. I just couldn't speak. Blood was practically choking itself out of my mouth, after all. I made out a strangled choked sound when the recognizable, empty feeling hit me, along with a strike of pain and dizziness—the feeling whenever any of the user died.

_Shit!_

I tried to move.

I didn't know how long I tried. Five, ten minutes? I tried.

Yeah, I felt stupid. Like, how could I move my body when I couldn't even _feel_ them? But surprisingly, I could. A shaky bloodied arm came to my vision, _my _arm; and I could feel my fingertips again. A bit glad, just a bit, I tried to get up—

I screamed. Almost, what came out was another strangled choke, only sounded more hysteric. Something collided with my arm and a shock of pain burst to my senses, almost fading out the numbness—and _goddamn it fucking hurts_! The arm fell limp to the ground.

I looked up. Even with my sight distorted with haziness tears of pain and red—blood, perhaps—I could make out the shape of it.

The demon.

"_Still alive, eh, exorcist_?"

Tears faded out. I could see its clownish features. It looked horrifying, as it always looked like, all of them, that I became used to it. It's sad, really, how I became used to some not-so-normal stuff.

_Innocence_.

It wouldn't answer me. I knew that. I was spent, I didn't even have the power to move, and I knew Innocence wouldn't come.

_Innocence_.

It bring its face closer and I could see the gleam of the bloodied blade—

"_This is the end of the line, exorcist!"_

_Innocence!_

* * *

**Story of My Life, Really**

**Prologue—**

**[the innocence]**

* * *

You know, those _anime_, with epic superpower stuff, where the main character discovers their power and fight the bad guys? And then the main character's like, "I want a normal life!" and we're like, "I want YOUR life!"? Yeah, I'm sure you guys know those, alright.

Trust me, I understand how you feel. But when it actually happened to me, I knew I should have felt happy. Blessed, even! To escape my fancy mansion-jailed life, and dive in to the world full of thrill and bonus superpower, that's not something you get so often.

I should have, but I didn't. Now, when I look back at the times I felt mad at those main characters, the irony hit me on the bullseye. Ouch.

I thought this was all a dream at first.

I should have always felt like that. I should have always believed that it was a dream, to spare that little bit of hope. But I didn't. After meeting hundreds of them, I didn't. The screwed up thing was, I already _accepted _it. I already thought of it as a part of my life—it made me feel guilty, actually, somehow.

Don't get me wrong. "superpower" was cool. Dying, on the other hand, was not cool.

Like I said, I should have felt happy. I mean, I practically get something that every sane teenagers dreamed of, right? A life right out of fantasy. It was real, it wasn't something merely to read nor watch anymore. And that's the worst part. It was _exactly_ what I wanted—what we all wanted—or something that we _thought_ we wanted. This was no fiction. The death was real. The fear was real. The monster was real. This had no plot, no storyline—and if it _did_ have one, than it's a pretty fucked up storyline. Snatching people from their boring life right into a goddamn war? Yeah, look at me right in the eyes and tell me that it's what they wanted. This wasn't pretty, wasn't sugar-coated. This was downright bloodied and ugly. Having a good life or a shitty life, it wasn't fair for anyone to be put into a war against something that once caused an armageddon. No one knew what's the ending. It's very, _very _possible for someone to be KOS-ed right away the second they stepped into the battlefield—then what? You wanna gather dragonballs and call Shenlong to revive them? Good luck with that.

So, yeah. Pretty much summed up the story of my life. Waking up everyday and thinking the goal of my life: survive for a day. Literally. But of course, it didn't drastically changed like that. At first it was still.. okay. Okay, _right, _like_ hell _it was.

The first time I met an _akuma_, I thought it was a dream, or perhaps I ate too much sardines and therefore hallucinating.

But the second it tore itself out of the maid's skin, I knew it was real. The screeching sound of machine and the sound of ripping flesh, and the smell, the coppery scent of oil and blood and rotten flesh—it was all very real, too real and so _vivid_, whoever thought it was a dream had got to be a fool.

The maid's body—the creature's _shell_—fell limp and the rotting smell choked me up, I wanted to throw up. It was huge, whatever it was. Three meters, _ugly_, and it looked like something out of _Transformer_, only uglier and somehow it gave a disgusting sensation I wanted to puke.

Then it unfolded its machinery, forming a canon.

I punched the danger button.

The danger button, as you can predict, was a red, punch-able button on the wall. I pressed it (well, punched) whenever I was in danger. When there was a fire, when there was a stranger, when there weren't any sardines left, list it. Almost immediately, the alarm roared filling the whole house, sounding menacing like when you fall into a trap in games. But the deafening sound didn't seem to bother the creature, it seemed to agitate it, actually, as it aimed its cannon at me and there was a loud _BANG _sound and I realized it _shot_. _Shot. Fired. _

I had read about it. What happened when you got shot, I mean. They said everything happened in slow motion and _bang_, you got shot. Or it happened so fast you wouldn't even know what was going on and _bang_, still got shot.

The latter was right.

I moved out of the way on instinct. Heh, I sound composed and calm but really, I nearly shit myself.

For a split second, I thought, _it missed_!

It _did _miss. But whatever it was out of the cannon hit me nonetheless.

It happened so fast. So fast that I didn't even know what the hell was happening, I just stood and stepped back a couple of times. I looked down in disbelief to my dress—and I saw red. The red spreading out so fast on the side of my torso in the midst of the white satin like wildfire as I fell to the ground and _ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, fucking ouch_ because goddamn, it _hurt like hell_. A nauseous sensation hit me. I didn't feel the fall. I didn't even realize I was falling, my point of view just got changed 180 degrees and, and I think I screamed. Or cursed, it was a mix of both. My eyes got teary and hazy for a terrifying moment I couldn't _see_, and thoughts sprinted on my head—_is it coming near? Is it going to shoot?_

_Am I going to die?_

I didn't remember how long I froze on the ground, crouching and screaming and my ears rung so loud, my heart was beating so loud too, accompanying the ringing sensation, and I could hear the voices. Gunshots and screams, another gunshots and screams and the screeching of machine that left me in a shock state of fear. I tried to focus, focusing on something, _anything_ to distract me from the pain.

Then I saw it. My eyes were watery, but I saw it, my hand. It was shaking so much—_I _was shaking so much—the black marks on it, covering my skin like tattoos, forming themselves. Black stars.

_I'm going to die, _I thought.

I knew what it was. I knew what the creature was, and I should have known since the beginning. I didn't know what made me so slow—was it the fear? The pain? Didn't matter. I knew what it was and I knew, none of the maids and butlers nor even my androids would stand a goddamn chance. They were going to die. _We _were going to die.

But even in the chaotic situation and the reality, the _slap_ that the creature was there and surely going for the kill, I still _denied_ it. This wasn't supposed to happen—that creature was—they had _destroyed_ them, it was—

_It's supposed to be dead._

I tried to speak. I had to warn them.

_It's supposed to be dead. It's supposed to be dead—they said it's extinct—it _has _to be extinct!_

I choked on my saliva—and blood. And the pain roamed, rushing in my blood and I _screamed_, it was twice as hurt as before. I was left panting and the pain was unbearable, but I had to speak, I had to _tell_ them. Though looking back again now, I think they should had already known what it was, but that time I couldn't think straight and I had to—no, _needed_ to do something, anything. But I was only able to choke one word out. My voice was weak and raspy and very, very pathetic I doubted anyone had heard it.

"—_akuma_—"

I shouldn't have said that.

Something in that word made me jerked and gasped and something—_something_, something _moved_ in me. Something that wasn't me, something more alien and foreign. The scary part was, I didn't feel it was foreign, no. In fact, it felt kind of _familiar_. Like it was a part of me, or something. It was like realizing a detail about yourself that you hadn't been aware of before—and now I was aware of it.

It spoke.

It sound like human, but it wasn't—not that I would be able to tell out, I just somehow _knew_ it wasn't. I couldn't think of a gender, it was a mix of female and male voices, adults and kids, speaking all at once and it reverberating—like when you shout in the mountains—it should barely registered to my mind, but somehow it was crystal clear. I didn't hear it in my ears. It was like thinking… yes, like a loud thought. The voice echoed _in me._

_**Human, **_it said, _**have you accepted me**_**?**

You know the mornings after you dreamt? You don't really remember much—sometimes even not at all—what you were dreaming, only flashes of scenes and you even barely remember what was it about. But sometimes if you're lucky, you do. You don't really remember, but you _know_ what was it about. You know about what _happened_ in your dream, the eminent part.

It was like that. I didn't remember it all, but I knew what happened. What I did that time.

I knew that I killed the _akuma_.

* * *

**A/N**

**[WARNING: THIS IS A **_**LONG**_** AUTHOR NOTE BECAUSE THE AUTHOR IS TALKATIVE AND YOU ARE VERY WELCOME TO SCROLL PASS IT, JUST DON'T COME COMPLAINING ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE MENTIONED HERE (which technically means you gotta read this) BUT YOU CAN SCROLL PASS TOO BECAUSE THIS A/N AND THIS WARNING ARE ANNOYING EVEN THE AUTHOR IS PISSED OFF BY HERSELF AFTER RE-READING THIS]**

**Done. Is it okay? Please say it is. Because I'm not sure about my writing skills and writing action (is this even **_**action**_**?) is hard. And since I'm not a native, there might be a lot of grammar mistakes and whatnot. And FYI, "KOS" is "Kill On Sight", just incase. **

**Review? And at least, if you're interested, follow? Please? Oh, and! And, if you have complains about the genre (because yeah, I'm not sure I put in correct genres) or anything, put it on the review. And yes, this is a trick so you will review. And is this story going to be angsty? Maybe, but it's like, one angsty chapter out of ten, perhaps. PERHAPS. And the angsty part isn't about the OC. Well, there are some about the OC since this is from her point of view, but I don't really like it that way and my planning from the start is every characters are going to have at least an angsty chapter. Right, like hell, of course they're going to have more than one. But it's not really so often that the genre's angsty.. or is it? oh my god. I'm new at this, I don't know. And the OC's character isn't the depressed kind, she's someone who doesn't like to talk or even _think_ about her past, you know? She'd rather be eating or watching **_**anime**_**. And yes, she might be annoying, and might not be likeable—and she's addicted with sardines and her favorite band is Linkin' Park (?). BTW I love Linkin' Park. And I am addicted with sardines.**

**I don't know when will I update, and I'm kind of busy (school.) **_**and**_** lazy, but the story excites me, so dunno, let's just hope I don't get writer block. And I have a habit of writing down a chapter over and over again until I'm satisfied.**

**Oh one more thing. Sorry that this chapter doesn't really describe much about the OC appearance and no original DGM characters, I plan it that way. They're going to appear in the next chapter though… maybe. And oh yeah. The plot. Does this story has a plot? I'm a lazy, "busy" person so what do you think? JK. This one does. At least I have a picture in my head.**

**Review! Critics and advises and suggestions are very welcomed.**

**By the way, can the critics be not too harsh? Because I have a low self-esteem complex that one blow hit and I'll cry under the rain. Wait no, you **_**are**_** allowed to be harsh, I need constructive critics.**

…**um, but not so harsh, okay? Be gentle. I have a very delicate heart.**

**Jaa, ne.**


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